Severus's Christmas Carol
by Clara Maplewood
Summary: Rated PG for some major angst. If you're not a sap, this is NOT the fic for you! lol. Btw, reading "The Master of Potions" would be a really really really good idea if you're going to read this fic.
1. Chapter One

Disclaimer- Obviously, the original plot of "A Christmas Carol" belongs to Charles Dickens. And even more obviously, everything HP is J.K Rowling's.   
  
  
  
"Mr. Longbottom! Do you mean to tell me that you cannot even remember the ingredients to a simple Sleeping Potion? Ten points from Gryffindor!"   
  
Neville trembled and looked towards Hermione as though she was a lifeboat; salvation only inches away. She rushed over. "Please, Professor, don't take the points from Gryffindor! It's almost Christmas, and-"   
  
"Do you think I care?" Snarled Snape, looking as evil as ever. "Fifteen points from Gryffindor, and detention for you, Longbottom!"   
  
"But, Professor-"  
  
"Do you want it to be twenty and detentions for all of you?"   
  
Hermione fell silent and returned to her cauldron, lips drawn into a tight, angry, pucker. Snape had been worse than ever lately, probably from everyone using the Christmas season as an excuse for getting out of his punishments. A knock came at the door, and Snape answered it bad-temperedly. "What?"   
  
He was practically assaulted with a group of eager-looking first years singing Christmas carols. "Deck the halls with boughs of holly, Falalalala, lalalala!" They handed him a basket of fresh-baked cookies and yelled "Merry Christmas, Professor!"   
  
Snape held the basket as though it were filled with toxic sludge. "And to what do I owe this...pleasure?"   
  
Lupin's face poked around the door. "I just thought we'd make some rounds of the school and spread some holiday cheer, Severus."   
  
Snape's face turned red with anger and he threw the cookies back at Lupin and his group of first years. "OUT! OUT OF MY CLASSROOM! DON'T COME BACK!" They scattered back up into the main school, ushered along by Professor Lupin. He turned back and faced Snape.   
  
"I should have thought you'd be cheerful, at least for Christmas."   
  
"Remus, if I had my way, every idiot who went about spewing Christmas carols and baking cookies would have his own wand turned on him and be hung from Mr. Filch's ceiling by his wrists. Now, if you would kindly remove yourself from my dungeons, I'd be eternally grateful." Before Lupin could say another word, the heavy metal door of the classroom was slammed shut and Snape had whirled on the class. "Well? What are you all gaping at? The arrival of human canaries at the door doesn't excuse you from work. Now continue chopping your tubewort. NOW!"   
  
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That night, after all the classes had finished, Snape trudged sourly up to his office. Taking his key from his pocket, he looked at the door. His ornate doorknocker transformed itself into the face of Lucius Malfoy. "Snaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaape!"   
  
He stumbled backwards, crying out at the strange apparation. What was this? Malfoy was dead, dead to begin with! Voldemort had killed him the past summer for "disloyalty"...  
  
Snape walked curiously back towards the door. He reached up his hand to the solid metal and felt it. Cold and lifeless as ever, just as he liked it. And so, he entered into his little dwelling.   
  
To say Snape was not startled would be untrue. Before climbing into his bed, he checked every nook and cranny of his office with wand outstretched and teeth bared. Nothing unusual or suspicious met his senses, so he crept into bed and blew out the candle.   
  
Lucius Malfoyu was dead to begin with. This one thing you must remember, or nothing that follows will seem wondrous.  
  
From within the dark room, made darker by his closed eyes, Snape heard dull, clanking footfalls, as those of a knight in dingy armor. He again bared his teeth and glared out from under his blankets. It was pitch black, but that sound...it didn't stop! What was it? "Show yourself!" He called, his voice betraying fear.   
  
Instantaneously, in front of him, there materialized a tall, gray-eyed man with shoulders hunched over and head hanging wearily. But this did not make him extraordinary. He was a silvery light blue color, and hovering three inches above the ground. About his shoulders and locked round his neck, ankles, wrists, knees, and head were chains. Heavy, iron chains that weighted down not only his wretched form, but his slippery voice. "Severus."  
  
"Who are you? What are you doing here?"   
  
"In life, I was your cohort, Lucius Malfoy. Do you remember? Can you recall the horrible deeds I did?"  
  
"You were bewitched, Lucius! The imperius curse was used liberally on you!"  
  
He chuckled with a sound of grating stone. "Still fooling yourself, Severus? Still denying the truth? If the Dark Lord had really always used the Imperius curse on me, would I...would I...WOULD I???"  
  
"Would you what? Why are you crying?"  
  
"The chain, Severus! The chain, the infernal chain! Would I be wearing this horrible burden of a chain if I had never had any choice in my Muggle-torturing? What do you think?"  
  
His voice shook as he realized what this spirit was saying. "No, Lucius...no."  
  
"Of course not, you fool! You-"  
  
"Please, why have you come back to haunt me?"  
  
"You wouldn't realize...not if I hadn't come! You would have never understood the consequences if the fates hadn't been so kind as to send me back to spare your already-filthy soul! You wear a chain like this, already it is longer than mine. Severus, listen closely to me: you will be haunted by three spirits tonight!"  
  
"Haunted?" he cried. "Haven't I had about enough of that?"  
  
"Expect the first spirit when the bell tolls one!"  
  
"Can't I have them all at once and get it over with?"  
  
His apparation was fading quickly and, apparently, painfully. "When the bell tolls one, Severus!"   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Snape found himself on the edge of his bed, trembling with eyes wide as saucers. Had this really happened? Was it all a dream, a horrible dream? Lucius Malfoy in chains! "No," he said under his breath. "No, it was false. Indigestion, maybe...perhaps I've come down with a flu." With this, he climbed into bed again and fell into a fitful sleep.   
  
  
The old grandfather clock outside his door awoke him next.   
  
DING  
  
One o'clock, he thought. No spirit. Wait, what am I even- this is ridiculous! So he thought, until a blinding light exploded right at his bedside. When he regained his vision, he saw before him the form of Hermione Granger!   
  
"Miss Granger!" he shouted, gathering his blankets around him. "Pray tell what you think you are doing in my office!"  
  
"Severus, I am not Hermione Granger, but her spirit." the girl looked down at the stack of books she was carrying.   
  
"What business brings you here, then?"  
  
"Your welfare."  
  
He snorted. "A night's sleep might aid my welfare."  
  
"Your salvation, then. I am the spirit of Christmas Past. Come with me, we will see the Christmases you have known." She opened an old, gray volume and smoothed the page lovingly. "Come, this could be your only chance, Severus."  
  
Wrapping a bathrobe quickly around himself, Snape walked over to the side of this girl and looked down to the book as she was. Suddenly, it felt as though his body was caught in a very strong whirlpool, spiraling downwards for an eternity. Though he screamed as the colors swirled, his voice was torn from his lips with the inertia of his flight.   
  
The next sensation he felt was being deposited rather roughly onto a lumpy couch in a warm room. "Spirit? Where are we?"   
  
The girl who looked so much like Hermione floated gracefully downwards and sat next to him on the couch. "You don't recognize this place? Oh, you wouldn't. You hardly ever saw it. At least, not when it mattered."   
The sound of a baby crying rent the air, and a woman with hawklike black eyes entered. She picked up a small bundle from a cradle and carried it out of the room. It took Snape a few moments to realize that it was a baby. It took him only about five seconds more to realize, with a shock, that this was his house, where he had grown up. Or, at least, for the first few years of his life. And that the baby was him. "You see, Severus," continued the spirit. "it was hard for your mother to raise you alone. Your father left to follow Grindelwald when you were born, though I don't believe you were ever told. He died when Grindelwald was defeated."  
  
He shook his head, not wanting to believe it. "My father died before I was even born, FIGHTING Grindelwald."   
  
"No, Severus. It's in the books," she gestured towards her packages. "Please don't deny this. Makes our job a lot harder, I must say. Your mother couldn't afford any gifts, could she?"  
  
He shook his head again, numbly.   
  
"You never realized how hard she worked. It was a struggle to simply get you through your first ten years. Have you ever realized that your mother prayed that you had turned out a Squib? She even was about to burn your letter from Hogwarts, but couldn't bring herself to do it."  
  
The scene in front of him took off like a tape on fast forward. Images blurred together and his house aged. Windows broke and fabric wore thin before his very eyes. Under his hand, the armrest of the couch ripped open and stuffing swelled out.   
  
That same fierce-eyed woman, now with hollow cheeks and loose skin, walked into the house. She seemed to sweep in coldness and grief, and she veritably jumped out of her skin when an owl banged against the window. She scanned it, murmuring quickly under her breath, "'Dear mother, sorry I can't come home for Christmas this year... James and his cronies haven't stopped teasing me, and Sirius Black tried to get me killed, I think...please write back soon, love severus." She didn't let anything show in her face, but heartbreak shattered in her eyes like broken ice.   
  
"You see, Severus?" The spirit's voice, though gentle, seemed interruptive. "Your mother cared, she just didn't want to let it show." Again, she opened that book, to a different page this time. "This might hurt."   
  
"Not the whirlpool again!"  
  
"Not that kind of hurt, Severus." She reached out and touched where his heart was. "This kind."  
  
Then, the colors melted and swirled again.   
  
  
  
  
When the world fell back into place, Severus felt a bucketful of ice water fill his stomach. They were standing on the thick green rug of a firelit room, and before them was...him, sitting on a couch. Younger, more handsome, but most obviously, happier. And in his arms-  
  
And in his arms-  
  
And in his arms was a beautiful witch. The younger Severus stared into the fire with love in his eyes as he stroked her hair tenderly. There was no repulsion, no distance, either physical or emotional. They seemed to be one soul.   
  
"Because she hadn't told me yet," he spat bitterly. "Because Selene didn't tell me she was Voldemort's half-sister until after Tommy was born."   
  
The spirit had apparently abandoned her books. She looked sadly at the younger Snape and his wife, Selene, and shook her head. "Why did you leave, Severus? How could you leave this?"  
  
He whipped his tear-filled gaze at her and spoke as though he would speak to an errant student. "You bring me to the hardest thing in the world for me to see and then ask me how I could leave when you know perfectly well! Have you no compassion?"  
  
"Did you say something, O Humanitarian of the Year?"  
  
This only caused another tear to roll down his cheek. "I-I...I left because I couldn't stay. I didn't want to be a double agent anymore, it felt too dishonest..." His voice took on a desperate tone, as though trying to find justification for his deed of the past. "How could I have brought them with me to Dumbledore's side? He wouldn't have accepted them!"  
  
"Selene and Tommy would have followed you to the ends of the Earth. You know that. Now all you have to do is accept it. Maybe this will convince you."   
  
"NO! I don't want to be convinced of my guilt!"  
  
She raised her voice until it overrode his. "You must, Severus! You must know, or no lessons can be drawn from this pain!" She turned to the scene before her and picked up a book, about to open it. Then she paused. "Look, Severus. Look and listen for just a few more seconds."  
  
He stared at the happy picture with a look on his face as though it was burning his eyes out. His younger self ceased stroking Selene's hair and took her face in his hands. "Merry Christmas."  
  
Selene merely smiled and said, "I love you so."   
  
They kissed, and Severus remembered it. He remembered it so forcefully and so painfully that he had to sit down and face the wall, tears leaking through his hands as they clenched over his face. His misery lasted and lasted, and then he felt the ethereal touch of the spirit's hand on his shoulder. "Severus. Something else must be seen."   
  
"No more," he sobbed. "No more!"   
  
Instead of the tissue-paper touch and the gentle voice, he now felt a hand as strong as a vicegrip grab his shoulder and wrench him up. The spirit once again smiled. "I got some help from the next spirit on that one. Look."   
  
He looked back at the living room. It was still warm and homey, but now there was a large Christmas tree in the corner and brightly wrapped gifts underneath it. A two-year-old boy in pajamas toddled down the hallway, closely followed by Selene and the younger Severus. The little boy jogged the last few steps and fell on his tiny bottom right in front of the tree.   
  
"Oh, no. No no no no." Severus was whispering, unable to tear his eyes away. "Not Tommy. No."   
  
"I'll skip ahead a bit so you don't have to see so much." There was true worry in the Spirit's eyes as she offered.   
  
"No, it's...the last time I'll see him. Let me be for now." This Christmas day that he remembered so well played out in front of him. This younger Severus was happily playing with his child and wife, but seemed strangely distant from them, as though there was something he knew about them that he didn't want to.   
  
"You remember. Selene told you about her relation to Lord Voldemort, and it was never the same after that, was it?"   
  
He didn't answer. It was too dangerous to speak. To speak was to cry when the emotion was this intense. The spirit spoke again. "Here it is. This is what I wanted you to see."   
  
Tommy's pudgy little hands opened a big package, and when he extracted a toy broomstick from it, his eyes shone with happiness. He leaped up to his unsteady feet and ran to his father, hugging him with all his might. "Thank you daddy, thank you thank you thank you! I love you daddy! Thank you!"  
  
There was still that distance, even though Severus was returning every hug and looked every bit as happy as his son.   
  
The spirit gathered up her books guiltily and turned to the older Severus. "I'm sorry," her voice echoed with a ghostly quality as the scene faded into blackness.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter Two

A/N: FOR PETE'S SAKE, READ "THE MASTER OF POTIONS" BEFORE YOU READ THIS FIC!!!!!  
  
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Severus found himself again, sitting on the edge of his bed, face buried in his hands and sobbing. Was that a dream? How on Earth could it have been? Was his mind so twisted as to think up such a fantasy out of past horrors? Questions and terrible answers raged inside his mind as he veritably dove for the shelter of the pillow and blankets. This hard, cruel-hearted man cried himself to sleep.   
  
  
  
  
DING. DING.   
Snape's red, puffy eyes shot open at the sound of the two o'clock bell. "Not again," he moaned, turning over into his pillow. "Go away!"  
  
To his deep surprise, a rustic chuckle answered this plea. "Sorry, Sev'rus, yeh've got more ta see."   
  
He turned around like someone on death row and hid his face again. "Oh, no, not you!" At his bedside stood a figure at least two times as tall as a normal man and about three times as wide. The dialect and cloud of black scraggly beard around his face immediately gave away the fact that Rubeus Hagrid had come.   
  
"Yeah, it's me. The Ghost o' Christmas Present. 'Course, yeh know me better as Rubeus Hagrid, so I don' mind if yeh call me that."   
  
"Hagrid, as Master of Potions in this school, I command you to extricate yourself from my office immediately!" He snapped, obviously forgetting everything the Ghost of Christmas Past had shown him. "Now go!"  
  
"Yeh've got some big problems learnin' lessons, haven' yeh, Sev'rus? Up yeh go!" that big vicegrip clamped down on his shoulder yet again and swept him out of his bed. "Tha's better. Jus' follow along, now." Hagrid lumbered over to the closet and opened it. "After you." When Severus didn't move, Hagrid pushed him like a broom pushes dust into the closet.  
  
When they came out the inevitable other side, it was the Hogwarts staff room. This was certainly full of Christmas cheer, with Professor Flitwick's multicolored decorations gleaming from every corner and everyone present enjoying a good party. Lupin went to the head of the table. "All right, everyone! Let's play 20 questions!" Everyone seemed to want to do so, so he said, "I'll go first. It's an animal."   
  
Dumbledore piped up. "Is it a social animal?"   
  
"Not usually."   
  
Professor Sprout thought for a second, then spoke. "Is it unpleasant?"  
  
"Indubitably, Hazel."  
  
"Does it walk on four legs?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Does it live in sewers?"  
  
He just laughed, which was generally taken to mean no.  
  
"Er...a rat?"  
  
Lupin shook his head, still laughing about the sewer comment.  
  
"A snake?"  
  
He bent double with laughter.  
  
"A salamander? A toad? A-"  
  
Lupin gasped it out through gales of mirth. "Stop! Stop! You all know this animal quite well, I'm sorry to say. It's our very own Severus Snape!"   
  
Everyone smiled broadly except for Snape. "You'll pay for that one, Lupin!" and with that, he launched himself at the offendor, but flew right through him. Hagrid pulled him up and dusted him off.   
  
"Shouldn't a done that, Sev'rus. Yeh can't hurt 'em, jus' like they can't see yer. We got a couple other places ter go yet. Come on." He walked to the closet with Severus in his wake.   
  
This room was dark, with five four-posters arranged throughout it. Snoring came from four of the five beds, but from one there came only muffled weeping sounds. Hagrid strode over to that bed and parted the curtain with a huge hand. "Look in there." Severus leaned over the bed and saw Neville Longbottom sitting bolt upright, clutching a pillow to his lower face. The pillow was soaked with tears from his streaming eyes, and in his hand was a faded, creased photograph. From inside it waved a round-faced wizard and a pretty witch, obviously his wife. Neville folded it up again and placed it into an envelope, which he hid under his mattress.   
  
"Yeh see, Sev'rus? Dumbledore didn' tell yeh, but Neville's parents ain't dead. They're in the fizziatric ward, or summat like that, at Mungo's. He goes an' visits 'em every holiday, but 'is grandmum couldn' get the money together this Chrismas. They don' even rekanize 'im! An' there yeh were, screamin' yer lungs out at 'im, when he was on the verge o' tears as it was!"   
  
Severus was speechless. "I-I...I didn't know...I'm sorry..."  
  
"Well, sorry ain't good enough sometimes, is it?" Hagrid roared, slamming his umbrella on the floor. "Don't yeh have a heartstring devoted teh compassion? Haven' yeh ever thought o' what yeh might be doin' teh a kid when yeh're just yellin' at 'im?" Suddenly, he calmed down and began stroking his whiskers thoughtfully. "Or her." Then, before Snape could react to these words, Hagrid had a diary in his large hands. On the cover, in gold letters, was embossed, "Hermione Granger."   
  
"Hagrid, we've no right to be going in students' diaries!" Snape hissed.   
  
"Ah, close yer mouth, fer once in yer life." He began leafing through until the latest entry. "Here we go. 'December twenty-fourth...Snape blew up at Neville today. Gave him detention for Christmas day, have you ever heard of anything so cruel? When DOES that monster let up? Now Gryffindor's lost fifteen points and we're already behind for the House Cup. There's a Muggle quote I heard somewhere once: "There's no rest for the weary."' Sev'rus? Yeh should think about that whenever yeh wanna 'blow up at' a kid."  
  
Snape didn't say anything. His lips were drawn in a tight, pensive line.   
  
"This one'll knock yeh fer a loop. Come on." They walked back through the closet, and Hagrid was right. What he saw did knock him for a loop.   
  
  
  
  
(Should I stop here? Nah, I'll be nice.)  
  
  
  
It was an old, dark alleyway, with bums and the general dregs of the wizarding world lining the sides. Hagrid led, grim-faced, down the alley.   
  
"Hagrid...who on Earth could I know who's here, now?"   
  
"Yeh'll see. Oh, yeh'll see."  
  
They walked on in silence, finally stopping at an old cardboard box. Inside was the sleeping figure of a young-looking wizard, probably about twenty-one, but he had the lines of ages etched into his face. Hagrid obviously wanted Snape to look inside, so he bent to do so. "Oh, my God..." He was older, obviously, but that black hair...the slightly hooked nose..."Tommy," he breathed out the word, then everything went black. The next thing he knew, he was back in his office at Hogwarts, with Hagrid sitting next to his bed.   
  
"Knew yeh'd come 'round sometime. Don' get up, jus' let me explain. When yeh left to join up with Dumbledore, yeh already know that Malfoy an' 'is cronies...yeh know wot they did. But Tommy was just a liddle 'un, so Selene was yellin' for 'im teh run away, so 'e jus' crawled out while they was all concentratin' on her. He crawled inter yer secret closet, yeh know, the one only him an' you knew 'bout, an' all the Death Eaters thought that each other 'ad done 'im in, so 'is escape sorta went unnoticed. When that lot 'ad left, Tommy came out, an' did a fair bit o' cryin', when 'e saw 'is mother. But then 'e went out inter this world. Slept in doorsteps, ate when 'e could, an' it's a miracle 'e survived, I'll tell yeh that, Sev'rus."   
  
He got out of his bed and grabbed Hagrid by his huge lapel. "Will Tommy live? Is he going to be all right?"  
  
Hagrid brushed him off like a beetle. "If those shadows don' change...then Tommy'll die."  
  
"But I couldn't have known...I couldn't have..."  
  
"Yeh shouldn't 'ave left, is the problem! Yeh coulda just tol' them, an' they'da follered yeh!" Hagrid's apparation was fading quickly. "Jus' remember wot I showed yeh 'ere tonight, an' learn from it! Good luck."  
  
And he was gone.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	3. Chapter Three

Disclaimer: Brian Jacques came up with the surname, "Dillworthy," and my mind just fell there first. Everything that belongs to J.K. is hers.  
  
  
  
He was instantly transported to a graveyard. Mist swirled around him as he looked around frantically, like a mouse crossing the kitchen of a cat owner. Suddenly, there materialized before him a tall, cloaked figure. Its face was hidden from view by the dark hood, but its white, skeletal hands protruded from the sleeves eerily. Severus scrambled back in fear.  
  
"Are you the spirit I was told would come?" His only response was a slow, ghostly nod of the shrouded head. He returned the nod with his own nervous one. "Well...what horrors have you to show me? Some bloody scene, Tommy ripped to pieces in a duel? Longbottom amounting to nothing, because of me? What?" There was no motion in the ethereally stagnant figure, and Severus's voice rose in terror. "Show me! I don't care what it is, show me and have it over with!" One of the hands rose and fell on Severus's trembling shoulder, making him gasp. It felt as though his arm were being cut off with a jagged saw of ice. He had no time to cry out, for the next place he saw was the inside of a pub...the Three Broomsticks! It looked warm and happy, but there was a pall hanging in the air, a scent of doom and destruction. "Spirit...what could possibly happen here at Christmas time?"   
  
His answer came quickly. Two men, probably about twenty-five years old each, burst into the pub with smiles on their faces. Snape recognized them instantly, the taller with red hair and a still incorrigably long nose, and the shorter with black, messy hair and startling green eyes.   
"Potter! Weasley! What are they so happy about?" he snarled, but then felt the spirit's nonexistent gaze penetrate him and fell silent.   
  
Harry leaped up on a table and shouted for attention. "Everyone! Everyone, listen! We've got fabulous news!"  
  
A voice called from below at the bar. "What, has he finally kicked the bucket?"  
  
Both Harry and Ron looked thoroughly upset that someone had stolen their thunder. Ron, sporting a maroon sweater, cleared his throat and took the floor. "Actually, yes," he said. "He passed away just this morning...Let's have a moment of silence." There was a stunned pause, then he smiled broadly. "Just kidding!"   
  
Everyone in the Three Broomsticks was laughing and talking about this man. "Well, I'm just glad he's finally off everyone's backs."  
  
"I know, what a grouch he was!"  
  
"Actually, I might attend the funeral. If they serve lunch, that is."  
  
Severus swallowed and looked into the vacant hood of the spirit. "I see the lesson you have. The fate of this man could be my own, if I do not change my ways." The spirit made no motion in response, except to again put his hand on Severus's shoulder. They were transported to a space between Hogsmede shops.   
  
Two Ministry of Magic officials were standing over a body, wearing very thick cloaks. They were shaking their heads.   
  
"Wish we hadn't had to do that."  
  
"He was stealing from that old witch, David. Shouting like bloody murder. He wouldn't back off."  
  
"Still...does that really justify it?"  
  
"Don't do this. You think I like it? Huh? Is that it?"  
  
"No. Sorry, Steve."  
  
"Just get this guy to the cemetery. Does he have any identification?"  
  
"No. Not even a wand, would you believe that?"  
  
"Wierd."  
  
"Yeah. All he's got is this ratty old toy broomstick thing."  
  
"Any name in it?"  
  
"Just 'T.S.' Nothing we can identify him with."  
  
"All right." Steve took out his wand. "Mobilicorpus!" As the body was drawn upright like a puppet, the head lolled backwards and the dead eyes stared at Severus dully.  
  
Severus's blood congealed to icy liquid fear in his veins. T.S...and that face, so familiar...  
  
He would have fainted if it hadn't been for the shock dealt to him by the spirit's touch. Only a single tear ran down his cheek; nothing else wanted to escape his body, not even breath. To mask his fear, he looked up at the spirit and whispered as they arrived in that same dark cemetery. "Spirit...what do you show me this for? Why torture me like this any longer?" On a distant hill, metal scraped dirt as a fresh grave was dug. Tommy's grave. The spirit, however, did not set off in that direction. "What was the name of that man? The man who died, who everyone in the Three Broomsticks was celebrating?" The spirit, ever silent, said nothing, but turned and pointed at a close gravestone. Severus walked forward as the spirit willed, but stopped in his tracks halfway. "Tell me! Are these the shadows of the things that will be? Or only those that may be, if I don't change?"   
  
The skeletal hand pointed, no gesture of the body quenched his curiosity. He walked forward as a man condemned, until he reached the gravestone. The name was covered in snow, so he bent down and brushed it off with trembling hands. The name came clear now...  
  
"Severus Snape? No!" he stumbled backwards. "No, it's not true! No!" He scrambled to the spirit, clutching the hem of the robe. The spot he was kneeling on started crumbling, the soil was melting beneath him! He turned his face up in hot panic to the spirit, but the hood had dropped, and by the light of the fire coming from the grave, he saw two blazing ruby eyes and the pale, mocking face...the laughter! High, cold, and immeasurably cruel! The crumbling earth caught up with him and he was falling, falling into the scorching flames!  
  
He landed next to a cauldron in a freezing cold dungeon. At the front of the classroom was a tall, strong-looking wizard whose booming voice cut across the room like thunder. "Now, all of you should be finished brewing the potion by now." Snape looked into his cauldron. There was nothing in it! A shiver ran through his body from the cold. Why did it not bother this teacher? It felt like icicles were piercing every inch of his body!   
  
The teacher turned his eyes on Severus. They looked like those of a furious male deer. "That includes you, Snape." His voice was a blade, cutting almost as keenly as the cold. Then the teacher's whole mannerism changed as he turned to a student on the other side of the room, obviously a Gryffindor. "I'm sure you've had it finished for a while."  
  
The student smiled and spoke smarmily. "Of course, Professor Dillworthy."  
  
Professor Dillworthy again turned to the class and said, "Please fill a vial with your potion and label it. Place it on my desk for me to grade, then you may leave." Severus was overcome with an uncharacteristic panic. He didn't have anything to turn in! Was the teacher going to yell at him? He couldn't take it if he yelled! He waited in the line to place the vials on the desk, and when he was about to face the teacher, the scene froze. Everything was in one place.   
  
"I must apologize, I almost forgot." A slippery voice drifted from the corner of a room, and Lucius Malfoy walked forth. "Confused, Severus? This is your fate."  
  
"What is?"  
  
"This." he gestured around the classroom. "I almost forgot the chain." At least eight strong men, all bearing a long section of metal chain, walked inside. Severus was forced to his knees as the chains were fastened around his arms, neck, waist, and legs wherever possible. Lucius Malfoy, still wearing his own chain, slid out of the room, but not before a final comment. "Amazing. You'll be the only cold man in Hell."  
  
The chains weighted him down, he was sinking through the floor, and there was no hope of ever getting up. Voldemort's laughter rang in his ears as the icy fear flowed again through his body. he was sinking lower...lower...lower...  
  
And he landed on his bed.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Severus was completely stunned. He felt all over his neck, his legs, his arms, but found no marks from the chains! He wasn't cold, but warm under the blankets! Then, he sprang out of his bed and changed into his robes as quickly as possible. The room was vacated in a flash as Severus dashed out of his room and down the hallway. The first student he came in contact with was Colin Creevey, whose arm he grabbed suddenly.   
  
"You! Creevey, what day is it?"  
  
With eyes as wide as saucers, Colin squeaked out a reply. "C-c-c-Christmas day, of course, Professor Snape, sir!"  
  
Severus let go of the boy's arm and clapped his hands together in excitement. "hah! There's still time! The spirits did it all in one night!" Colin took off down the hallway, and Severus called after his retreating back, "Merry Christmas!"  
  
Hmm, he thought. Very nice boy. Muggle-born, but still nice. Almost as nice as- He gasped. Tommy! According to the Spirit of Christmas Present, he was in Hogsmede, sleeping between next to Honeyduke's in a cardboard box. Severus ran as fast as he could. He had to change it! He had to save his son! 


End file.
